


Fulfill the Routine

by Saradactyl



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artificial Intelligence Nanami Chiaki, Eating Disorders, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Future Foundation (Dangan Ronpa), Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Implied Sexual Content, Melancholy, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Self-Medication, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, depictions of corpses, the tragedy, there's some hope, they're recovering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29079402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saradactyl/pseuds/Saradactyl
Summary: "Are you willing to put up with me tonight?"Hinata's response was slow but it was always the same. "Whatever you need."Because Hinata was nice, that was his flaw.[Everyone is trying to recover and no one said it was going to be easy.They make do with what they can.]
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko/Pekoyama Peko, Sonia Nevermind/Tanaka Gundham
Comments: 23
Kudos: 79





	Fulfill the Routine

**Author's Note:**

> I hate tags but I hope I didn't miss anything triggering.
> 
> Wrote this very fast as a sort of miny character study (?) for each of character. I don't explore a lot of them and I feel like a lot of them get pushed to the side a lot so I tossed in my favorite ships and some platonic relationships I thought would be a bit different.
> 
> These were all meant to be one-page long, some longer and some shorter, so there wasn't a lot of development but I think most of them had the effect I was going for.
> 
> This also mentions a lot of components to one of my other fics that I posted under the **anonymous** collection so if you read that, you'll catch some references. If not, that's fine too because I'm surely not going to link it.

There was a permanent tint of pink staining the bathtub, tracing the inside with a lingering metallic odor. Days went by, the tub got darker, and the number of people living in the homes below the palace dwindled. That particular bathroom, no one else entered as the stench only got worse until one was forced to clean it by the end of the week.

It took 30 of her subjects to fill the tub to the brim, yet the queen somehow always came out with that sickly sweet floral fragrance sticking to her skin. Her eyes reflected the bouts of crimson she would sit in, the flush on her pallid skin getting more vivid as time continued. 

The tub was imprisonment, it kept her trapped. When red started to flood the clear water in the bath, she stayed put. She deserved this. Her people depended on her and she couldn’t even recall where the bodies had gone, what was made of the families that were torn apart.

Even her tears were red, her knees dotted with them as she brought them as close to her as possible. But she’s dealt with worse, she’s _done_ worse -- a bath shouldn’t be this difficult.

A finger of a rotting corpse, nails as red as the water she sat in, brushed the dirt off her cheek. 

“Sonia, is the situation too distressing?”

They scrubbed away the dark splotches of the garden she had tended to with Komaeda. It was coming together. Komaeda recommended planting some roses, white ones.

She shook her head. “No, Gundham.” Her voice never cracked, she never croaked. The closest thing that didn’t signify her voice as a previous heir was the slight mellow tone she spoke in when waking up in the morning. Her speech was steady, it was hard to believe she was saying anything but the truth. “No, I can do it.”

“Do not try and deceive me.” Tanaka put a hand over hers, the rotting skin replaced with rolls of tattered bandages. “A shower would suffice just as well.”

Nevermind followed when she pulled her to her feet, the water at her calves clear again and the illusion is gone. 

“Would you be able to tell?” None of them seemed to be too concerned with the water seeping into Tanaka’s clothes. “Would you be able to tell that I was going to be queen?”

“My da--”

“I can’t even…” She flinched when the stream of water came with the turn of Tanaka’s hand. “Their blood is _on_ me, Gundham.”

“It's trickery," he told her, ducking under the showerhead to kiss her. "The depths of your mind are filled with deceit."

Her voice was barely heard over the sound of water hitting the tiled floor.

"I’m not sure about that."

___

Koizumi's fingers differed from Komaeda’s prosthesis. They were smaller, nor did they move as fluently.

Her ring and index finger, from both hands, were replaced with metal phalanges. Where they had gone, she had some sort of clue but she didn't think about it too often.

She thought about what it would be like to have them back, to be able to hold a camera without shaking and getting a mesh of blurred colors on film as a result. Sometimes her fingers don’t click the button the first time, missing moments where it would have been nice to keep a snapshot. 

The camera was battered and barely hanging on ends, Soda and Hinata far too busy to meddle with it for a while. Naegi never looked through the photos when handing it back to her, the contents might have been “too personal.” And it might’ve been, at one point, if it was her taking the photographs.

Her mother would take pictures of the piling corpses and endless violence during war as a job. It was considered heroic, she was doing some good in the world. In comparison to the pictures on her camera roll, she tainted her mother’s image. Maggots creeping up in orifices of faces in perpetual fear, their mouths agape in silent shrieks of horror. The blood on the streets couldn’t be picked apart from the crimson fog in the sky. Occasionally, her _friends_ would pop up in the pictures as the only bold statements of color and life. 

These weren’t her photos. She wouldn’t have let the world see this. She wouldn’t have let her mother know.

Was there the possibility that her mother was there, among the bodies? She thought about it, flicking through the images. Koizumi couldn’t imagine her face contorted with this sort of agony and terror, she was a stern woman. She’s been through wars, she could make it out through an apocalypse with the right resources. That didn’t necessarily mean Koizumi would see her again but the thought was comforting. 

It was when the tides came crashing in that a bit of sea glass washed up onshore. It was a vivid green, smooth edges, not quite a perfect sphere but nearly there. 

She moved it a bit closer to the ocean, waiting till the waves rolled over before snapping another photo. 

_Blurry_.

___

Saionji, as mature as she seemed at first glance, still couldn’t tie an obi. 

She was in the storage room, the only place with a full-length mirror in the Future Foundation’s building to see whether she made the knot tight enough. She was an adult now, she should be able to do this much. Koizumi didn’t need to help her, she barely could with missing fingers.

Kirigiri had pulled out a magazine on traditional Japanese culture for her, the instructions for tying a taiko-musubi on the back. Her pick was a sheer white cotton for the bow, dusted with a glimmer that could trick the human eye into thinking her knot was actually decent. It suited well with the pink she wore, one of two kimonos she had. The orange one had gotten too small to wear but she kept it for memory's sake. It was worn, spots of red leaving a sort of accent at the bottom. 

The bow was supposed to be simple, it was a knot everyone knew how to do. Her fingers slipped through the loops and it unraveled. She tried again. The fabric wouldn’t fit through the gaps. She tried again. One side was too short.

It was hard. She didn’t want to do this anymore.

She wasn’t aware how much time had passed or how many times her sash had hit the floor, collecting dust. Her arms were getting tired from craning them to reach behind her. How people tied these so well was a mystery to her, she couldn’t even wrap it around her waist at a decent angle. It just kept falling apart.

There was a hesitant knock at the door, _hesitant_ being that space in between each thud was a few seconds. They didn’t voice their name, they chose to creak the door open just a bit to peek their head in. She seemed just as surprised to see Saionji there.

Subconsciously, Saionji put a hand to her neck, feeling her breaths becoming untimely. She forced herself to continue looking in the mirror, tying the knot that couldn’t be tied. The sash was dirty now, a sully grey, but she couldn’t care less.

The clink of a few plastic prescription bottles made her fumble, the fabric dropping to the ground once again. 

“Do...would you like my help?”

The air was stuffy in this closet as it was, why couldn’t she just _leave_?

“N-no, go away.”

The sash fell again.

“If you use that now, that would be bad for your respiratory system, Hiyoko-san.”

“Don’t call me Hiyoko,” she seethed. “We aren’t friends.”

“I...I’m really trying--”

“Go away!”

She fell to the ground, chasing after the cloth, barely making out the color. Her limbs grew heavy and she could taste her heart on the end of her tongue, threatening to fall out of her mouth. She couldn’t play the nice guy forever, one day she was going to come up behind her with those eldritch eyes and she would die again. 

“You’re so stupid! No one likes you! Just leave already!”

She didn’t say anything back. There was a rattle, then she left.

Saonji steadied herself and glanced down at the orange prescription bottle sitting in front of her. The label was written in permanent ink: **_Tsumiki Mikan, Sertraline._ **PTSD medication. 

___

“I’m makin’ honey ribs for dinner.”

Owari hummed, playing around with the food on her plate. It was well past breakfast, Hanamura was cleaning up the scraps, prepping for the next meal before the other cooks came to assist. The menu for this morning was simple, bread and eggs. 

“I have a training scheduled in a few minutes,” she said. “Nekomaru will be waiting.”

“Then let ‘em wait.” He dipped a toothpick in the glaze and handed it to her. “ _I_ can make it a better time. Try this?”

She pushed her plate to the side and took the piece of wood from his fingers. It was sweet, a bit salty, and the honey blended in well. There wasn’t anything less to expect from the Ultimate chef. Maybe she could eat one, they would see when night came.

“Don’t ya let this go to waste!” He picked up her fork and scraped the remains into the center of the plate. 

“If I eat too much, I won’t be able to exercise as well!” It was a basic excuse. “Those wimps need to get into shape.”

“And Nekomaru’s there to make that happen.” He tapped the fork against the plate. “Get some meat on them bones.”

She had enough meat on her bones, her finger sunk into her cheek when she poked it now. It was nice, seeing a human face in the mirror, but it was more than she deserved.

“How many more bites?”

He held up two fingers. Owari nodded, picking up a decent amount of egg on her fork and managing not to gag as they slid down her throat — cold and thick, almost like a worm wiggling down her mouth. 

“Done?”

There was still a few bits of food scattered here and there but it was decently clean. “Done. Good job.”

Owari managed to keep it in her stomach as she got up to put the dish away. Eating was a headache.

___

The objectives of the Future Foundation were evident — the world had to be stable first before they could start cleaning up the streets. They did a fair job with removing the corpses but every now and then, a foot or an arm could be found while scouting the area.

Pekoyama toyed with the ring on her finger a lot now, a fidgeting habit when she didn’t have her sword on hand. She needed to be doing something, having her hands in motion constantly meant she would be able to fluidly turn to fight when necessary. 

Kuzuryuu kept the hand with his ring tucked in his pocket, not wanting to damage it. His other usually went out to grasp her shaking hands, keeping her close. 

“...the air is nice today.” It wasn’t thick, brisk winds made it easier to breathe. Kuzuryuu looked up at Pekoyama as she nodded, her thumb stroking the gold band around his finger. 

“It doesn’t smell as bad.” It didn’t. With cold weather approaching, the stench that usually persisted in rotting flesh washed away. 

The two usually started conversations like this, discussing the weather and their routine. It was as if they were strangers, no one would be able to tell if it wasn’t or the rings on their fingers. Nor the silent hugs and kisses they shared when they believed no one was looking.

It wasn’t official, the rings had no meaning but an accessory to the others besides their classmates. She was still addressed as Pekoyama and maybe it wouldn’t change, maybe it would. It depended on how quickly the world could piece itself back together. 

“Do you hear that?”

Kuzuryuu stopped pacing, his grip on Pekoyama’s hand tightening. He stayed silent, trying to listen past the wind and almost missing the barest _squeak_. It was feeble, whatever it was wouldn’t be able to fight back. 

Kuzuryuu walked up to the sound first, quickening his pace just slightly when Pekoyama seemed eager to push him behind her. He made out the small figure in the corner, curled up in a ball, sickly and frail. “It’s...just a cat.”

“A kitten.”

Kuzuryuu gave his wife an odd look and she averted her gaze. “It seems too small to be a cat.”

He approached the animal, it didn’t move a muscle. The only sign of life was the slow blinking of its chromatic eyes and a soft peep. It wasn’t safe to be touching strays, not aware of what diseases the Tragedy could have brought, but Kuzuryuu wasn't much of a stickler for the rules.

The fur was still soft, though dirt had coated what could have been seen as ginger, a musty brown. He could feel the ribcage expand with every intake. Pekoyama stood close, curiously watching him run hi hand through the creature’s coat, her hands occupied with her ring again.

“You can pet it,” he told her. 

She crouched beside him, her hands still shaking. “Animals don’t like me.”

“I’m aware.” She reached out to touch it anyways, a finger petting the cat on the head. “It’s not like it can run off.”

___

“Guess my name, guess my name!”

Mioda eagerly sat in the swivel chair, staring directly at the camera at the top of the computer. Pink pixels processed the wide grin on her face and it opened its eyes.

“Mioda Ibuki...I think.”

“Woohoo!” She smacked her palm against Soda’s back, the mechanic dropping the bolts in his hand. “It works, it _works~_ ”

Mioda’s voice was a bit scrawly, the rim of red around her eyes telling all that needs to be told about the story. Nonetheless, she was as joyous as ever, spinning in the chair and screaming with glee.

“Of course it works,” Soda said, picking up the screws. “If it didn’t, I would restart the entire project.” He turned to the screen and felt a bubble of pride swelter in him when her eyes flitted to look at him, a soft smile appearing on her face. “You--Chiaki, do you know my name?”

“Soda Kazuichi,” she answered immediately.

He let out a yelp but quickly gathered himself when some of his co-workers gave him weird looks. He settled on the desk and dropped the bolts back in his toolbox, his supply of equipment downgraded with how much time was put into this project. “Yes, yes.” She smiled again and her eyes wandered to the side, as if she was pondering. It was so natural, as if it was really her.

“What’s with all the yelling?” Imposter walked up to the scene, Hinata trailing closely behind. He looked at the screen and his eyes softened momentarily but it went back to being a sharp gaze. “It works?”

“Yes she does! The facial recognition is working perfectly.”

“You didn’t even need my help?” Hinata walked in view of the camera, waving and grinned when Nanami waved back.

“Of course not!”

“I’m joking,” he said, perching himself on the arm on Mioda’s chair. “What do I say to make it work?”

“Just ask her for your name. She’ll go through the database and pull the file right out for you.”

“Alright.” Mioda got up from her seat and Hinata took her place, facing the computer. “Chiaki, what’s my name?”

There was a loud whirring, the sound of the AI processing his features. She closed her eyes, as if she were thinking and when she opened them, nothing came out. Hinata asked again but there was no answer. “Does it do that?”

“No.” Soda brushed a thumb over the camera lens, not getting anything that might’ve been blocking it.

“Is it broken?”

“We just did it, how can it be--”  
  


“Kamukura Izuru.”

Nanami blinked, not quite registering the emotional distraught on Hinata’s face. He stared at the screen, waiting for something else to come up. There was a miscalculation, it had to be. She knew his name. 

“Hajime-kun.” Mioda put a hand on his shoulder, only making him bear more weight.

“I mean…” Hinata looked down and the scars trailing up his arms. “She’s...not wrong...I guess.”

“You’re still Hajime,” Impostor told him. “Maybe at one point you weren’t, but you are Hajime.”

“Yeah…”

Impostor sighed and excused the both of them, leading them to a corner in the office. He understood it when Hinata couldn’t tell pick apart who he was. He was once in his shoes, after all.

___

“Four more laps!”

It was getting easier to be able to run around the building but that only pushed Nidai to make the training more intense. Komaeda pushed himself to follow Nidai at a steady pace, following his trail as people made way for them. His lungs were on _fire_ but he wasn’t going to stop because of such a minor inconvenience. 

After chemotherapy, Nidai was his coach as he covered gaining weight back before going into working out. He could have been doing better things but sparing some time for Komaeda could do him some good. So he did, making sure the man never skipped out on a daily workout. The effects were clear: his skin had more color, he had grown a bit taller, and there was a bit of vascularity to show for his work. Nidai was glad but Komaeda seemed to differ in opinion.

“Can we try more weight workouts?”

Komaeda had a hand on a barbell, tracing a metal appendage across it.

“You need to build up your stamina and endurance before moving on!”

Komaeda’s disappointment was obvious but Nidai did not negotiate. He and Komaeda made their way back into the center of the building complex to meet up with everyone else, probably already in bed by now. The jogging was always scheduled late so it didn’t interfere with too many of the members willing to take the night shift. They had even made a small closet as their “locker room,” changing into their designated uniforms before entering the main building.

“Is there a reason you want to use the weights so bad?” 

Komaeda shrugged. “I don’t know. Just...being able to lift heavy stuff would...be fun, I guess.”

The man was fairly reserved but he was aware that Komaeda stayed away from tasks that caused exertion, it had become a habit. He didn’t like to listen too often either, the point where he broke into the office after curfew to talk to Nanami and make paper airplanes. 

Nidai caught him doing that while on break, using old reports to fold up paper planes and throwing them towards the trash. They never landed.

“Heavy stuff?” 

They reached the inside of the building, their rooms at different ends of the hall. Nidai parted with him, both a burden placed and gone. Working out regulated his sleeping schedule, he was tired. He didn’t really sleep in his room anymore, after losing the keys and somehow damaging the lock beyond repair. He was just lucky in that aspect.

He landed three heavy knocks on the door at the end of the hall, waiting for a “come in” to be from behind. It never came but the walls were thin enough to hear heavy breathing. Komaeda let himself in, against good manners, and walked up to the man resting his head against his desk. Dry tears streaked his face and his brows twitched, alluding to some sort of thought. 

Hinata never cried. At least not in front of anyone else. Once, in front of Naegi. He didn’t do it much after.

“Hinata-kun.”

Just that was enough to shake him awake, his eyes going wide and his hands shooting up to wipe the crust in his eyes. He was always there when beckoned, Komaeda found it distasteful.

But it made things easier when Hinata asked “do you need something?” because Hinata already knew. He always knew and, yet, he asked. Ever the gentleman.

"Are you willing to put up with me tonight?"

Hinata's response was slow but it was always the same. "Whatever you need."

Because Hinata was _nice_ , that was his flaw.

The way Hinata melted into the kiss made him seem too easy. He made it _seem_ that way. It was easier to get him to bed that way, tire him out enough that he’d fall asleep then and there. He was never quiet about it either, though no one came knocking on his door to find out why. He was always exhausted so sleep came easy. And when he did, his papers were complete in the morning.

He would look for more work to be done.

It was routine.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending of Danganronpa 3 made everything seem so bland, like everything would just magically snap back into place.
> 
> This was kind of a first time doing something on the darker side of post-canon but the practice was nice. I have a lot of thoughts for the other games as well, especially with Kiyotaka and Amami, so I might do some for those as well.
> 
> There's a lot of good things that can be placed instead of this, with good therapy and wholesomeness, but everything was a one page length. And writing darker stuff is kind of fun? Though I probably wouldn't post it under this account. If you catch one of my more messed-up fics, I applaud you 👏 Don't call me out though :((


End file.
